


Compensation

by holyfant



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Sherlock's Coat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyfant/pseuds/holyfant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene makes sure to take care of Kate after what happened with the Americans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compensation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for come_at_once for unsettledink's prompt: "after dark". Written in a mad dash around 2am and absolutely unbeta'ed for now.

After dark, Kate shuts the curtains of the house one by one, going by a strategic order that brings her from their bedroom on the top floor past Irene's consultation room to the back window in the kitchen. It's a ritual that relaxes her every time. With each of the eyes of their home being closed in turn, she can feel how the gaze of the day is turned inwards, how the bubble of their private space inflates and pushes all of Irene's professional obligations away. Irene doesn't work past sunset – it's one of their rules.

Halfway through her journey through the house, Kate stops and takes her heels off. She stretches her toes into the luxurious carpet for a moment and breathes out, centering herself. It's been a long day, and her head still throbs from the blow she received earlier. Irene is not home yet, which is a little worrying – Kate's long learned to not think of Irene too much when she's not there, but waking up from a painful unconsciousness to an empty house with traces of violence still in it is not the stuff of mental tranquility. 

Kate sighs, shakes herself and moves on to the next window. After she's finished sealing herself into the cocoon of the house, she pours herself a glass of the lovely pinot grigio in the fridge and installs herself in the sofa, legs up on the coffee table. She groans a little at the pleasurable stretch of her tired calf muscles. 

Somewhere along the line she's learned to start enjoying waiting for Irene.

*

The sound of Irene's key in the front door lock finally comes around midnight.

“So?” Kate calls, on her third glass of wine. She's feeling loose and mellow, body pleasantly melded with the sofa cushions.

There is a distinct lack of answer, as well as of the typical sound of Irene's shoes clacking on their hardwood floor – which is why Kate jumps when Irene suddenly puts a hand on her head from behind the sofa.

Irene laughs a little. “Sorry. You look cozy.”

“Hm. I am.” Kate tips her head back into the pillows to look up at Irene, and blinks at the upside-down sight that meets her.

“D'you like it?” Irene grins, and Kate picks up her head and turns around to look at her proper.

“That's...” She laughs. “How did you get that off him?”

“Hit him with the crop a few times, drugged him, then stole it.” Irene puts a hand on her hip and strikes an exaggerated pose. Sherlock Holmes' coat is far too big on her; she looks almost frail in it, all the attention of the eye drawn to her collarbones and the paleness of her neck.

“Glad to hear you made the most of your appointment with him,” Kate says, smiling at Irene. 

“I'd like to think he enjoyed himself,” Irene says, then leans over the back of the sofa and takes Kate's chin in her hand. “And what about you? Did you enjoy yourself here without me?” She runs her thumb over Kate's lower lip.

Kate hums, leaning into the familiar touch. “I'll admit getting thrashed by that CIA agent wasn't what I had planned for today.”

Irene lets go of her, and sobers, losing her playful air. “Yes, that. I got him back for you, Kate.”

“I never doubted for a second that you would.”

They share a warm look of complicity between them. It's this that keeps Kate going, even when Irene does incomprehensible things like she did today – Kate knows that even if she doesn't understand all of it, Irene will always keep her on her side. 

Kate pats the sofa. “Come here?” 

Irene smiles, complies. “Anything you want?” she asks, running her bare toes up Kate's stockinged calf.

“Hm. I've got a bit of a headache from before,” Kate says. 

“Got it,” Irene says softly, and draws Kate in by her tie, kissing her lips without hurry. Kate sighs into the contact and opens her mouth to let Irene in. It's so lovely, only having to say half a word for Irene to understand what kind of mood she's in. Irene keeps kissing Kate, bringing them closer until she can swing a leg over Kate's hip, settling herself in Kate's lap. “There you are,” she murmurs against Kate's mouth. “I missed you.”

Kate hums her appreciation and sneaks a hand between them to undo some of the buttons on Holmes' impractical coat to touch Irene's skin. The softness of her nudity underneath the sturdy fabric is a bit exciting. “You went all across the city like this?” Kate draws back to ask her, grinning.

“The cabbie wouldn't even take my money,” Irene says lightly, eyes twinkling.

For a few moments, they just kiss: deep, drawn-out kisses that make Kate feel like she's melting into the sofa, the tension around her spine dissipating.

“You know, I think you'd quite like Sherlock,” Irene says when she draws back. The press of her thighs on Kate's is lovely and firm. When she starts to undo the buttons of Kate's blouse, the too-long cuffs of the coat scratch over her skin, and Kate shivers a little.

“Would I really?” she asks. “I rather took him for an arrogant prick.”

“Oh, he is,” Irene says, airily. “Precisely your type, I think.”

“I don't have a type,” Kate says, and arches up until Irene leans down to meet her and kisses her again, licking the waxiness of her lipstick off with slow, firm flicks of her tongue.

“You very much have a type,” Irene says when she pulls back. “It's slender, dark and dangerous.”

“One of you is more than enough,” Kate says, and feels a delicious tension pool in her gut when Irene slides her palms over her abdomen and up to her breasts. “And I know which one I prefer, anyway.”

“I should hope so,” Irene says, and cradles one of Kate's breasts in her hands, pushing the cup of her bra down to fondle her nipple. Of course she can't resist giving it a quick pinch with her nails – the small shock of pain, a bit at odds at the softness of the rest of what they're doing, sends a pleasurable spark up Kate's spine.

“I don't want to talk about him anymore,” Kate breathes.

“No more talking,” Irene agrees, and she lifts herself off Kate's lap and stands up, letting Holmes' coat fall open a bit to reveal tantalising slivers of her body inside it. A little shock of glee goes through Kate at the idea of Holmes getting this coat back and deducing easily what use they put it to. Maybe it'd wipe some of that posh superiority off his face. 

Irene kneels in front of Kate and runs her fingers lightly up her calves and knees, making sure her nails don't get caught in her stockings. She slowly pushes the hem of Kate's skirt up and leans down to kiss the stretches of thigh that are revealed. As the skirt migrates up, it reveals the thigh high stocking bands and the garters, which prompts Irene to make a warm, approving sound. She takes one of the elastic straps between her teeth and lets it snap back against Kate's leg. Kate gives a little sound: a mixture between a moan and a giggle. She lifts her hips off the sofa to allow Irene to push her skirt all the way up to her waist, over her arse and hips. She's not wearing knickers today, just the garter belt – not by design, just by whimsy. Irene lets out a small groan at the sight and nuzzles the inside of Kate's thigh with her nose and mouth. Kate smiles, the heat in her gut flaring, and slides the fingers of one hand into Irene's hair. Her legs fall open further of their own account.

Irene takes hold of Kate's hips and pulls on them, surprisingly strong as always, so that Kate scoots down the sofa a bit and Irene's access is easier. Irene doesn't waste time – not tonight, she knows what Kate needs tonight – and carefully kisses Kate's labia, soft nips of touch that make Kate tip her head back and close her eyes. Sometimes, on the tail of long and strenuous days like this one, there is nothing better than just letting Irene take care of her, intuit precisely what she wants and how she wants it. Sometimes Kate likes to be teased to the edge several times and brought back every time, and sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes Kate likes to be pushed through the boundaries of pain to a new sort of pleasure, and sometimes she can't take that. At this point, Irene can tell without having to be told.

Irene's tongue parts Kate's labia with a firm wet pressure that takes the sensations up from soft and languid to a little more urgent. Kate's fingers flex in Irene's hair, drawing her a little closer. Irene slides her hands up and down Kate's thighs as she licks her, flicking her tongue across Kate's clit. The soft scratch of the material of the coat on her skin makes Kate shiver.

When Irene commits to this and applies her knowledge of what Kate needs to come, it doesn't take long. She uses the flat of her tongue to lick around her clit with a firm, consistent pressure that makes Kate want to close her thighs around Irene's head and squeeze, keeping her there. Irene takes one of her hands away from Kate's thighs and brings them between her legs, slipping an index finger into Kate easily. Kate gasps, pulls on Irene's hair without really intending to. 

“Irene, I –” she breathes, the muscles inside her already starting to seize up, the anticipatory trembles before the orgasm.

Irene hums and adds another finger comfortably, fucking Kate leisurely, fingertips carefully curling upwards inside Kate.

“Fuck, yes,” Kate groans and the orgasm breaks easily, rolling through her in waves of slow, liquid pleasure. She shudders through it breathlessly, muscles spasming around Irene's fingers, Irene continuing to kiss her clit through it.

Finally she comes down, breathing heavily, the muscles inside her jumping, limbs going soft. Irene pulls her fingers out gently, gives a final little kiss to Kate's twitching cunt.

“There you go,” Irene says, soft and low, and when she looks up at Kate, she is wet all around her mouth.

Kate smiles lazily, not managing much more. The rush of endorphins helps: the throb of her head is fading, replaced by a lovely, empty relaxation. “Mmm. Just... what I needed.”

“Sorry for today,” Irene tells her quietly, and she gets up and sits close to Kate, stroking a hand over her belly, fixing the cup of her bra back over her exposed breast. “I didn't mean to put you in danger.”

“'s okay,” Kate responds sleepily. “I know what I signed up for with you.”

Irene touches her hair. “Think you can sleep now?”

“Definitely. Once I can get myself to go up to bed.” Kate smiles. “Are you coming up?”

“Later.” Irene tugs on the collar of the coat with fingers that were just inside Kate. “I have something to return first.”

“Pity,” Kate says vaguely, sated and weary. “I was rather hoping we could use it some more.”

Irene drops a kiss on her forehead with a smiling mouth.


End file.
